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MEMOIRS 



MRS. ELIZABETH FISHER, 



or THE 



CITY OF NEW-YORK, 

Daughter of the Rev. Harry Munro, who was a Chaplain in the 

British Army, during the American Re volution. -Gmng a 

particular account of a variety of domestic misfor- 

tunes, and also of her trial, and cruel con- 

demnation to the state's prison for 

six years, at the instance 

of her brother, 

PETER JAY MUNRO. 



WRITTEN BY HERSELF. 



Neither the perfidy of private friendship, nor the persecution of relatives, nor 
lit^s of the Lid, nor domestic calamity, nor tin,, nor circumstance 
can shake the mind that is armed -with conscious virtue. 



MINTED *OR THE AUTHOR 



MEMOIRS 



MRS. ELIZABETH FISHER, 



THE Rev. Harry Munro, my father, was a native of 
Scotland. After receiving his education, he was appoint- 
ed Chaplain to the 77th regiment of foot, commanded by 
General Montgomery, and was sent to America at the 
conclusion of the war, in the year '59. My father be- 
came acquainted with the widow of an officer who be- 
longed to the same regiment; this widow became wife to 
my father and mother to me. I was born in Philadel- 
phia, the second day of December, 1759 ; my mother 
died three days after my birth, and left me to the care ot 
my father, who soon procured a wet nurse for me in Bur- 
lington, a quaker lady, with whom I remained till my 
father married the second time, and took up his residence 
in Princeton, New-Jersey. I was then taken home to my 
step-mother ; I became very found of her, as she was 
fond of me, and soon forgot my nurse. Eleven months 
after her marriage she was delivered of a son. Some time 
after her recovery, my father took it into his head to go 
home to England to be ordained for the church of Eng- 
land, prefering that to the church of Scotland. He took 
his leave, with an intention of taking passage from New- 
York ; but a few days after his departure from home, my 



( 4 ) 

step-mother was taken with a fit, and expired in a few 
minutes. A servant was sent off in haste to New-York 
to inform my father of what had happened ; when the 
servant came to the ferry the wind was so high that the 
boat could not cross that night ; the next day my father 
heard the melancholy news — the death of a woman whom 
he loved ; it was customary in those days to bury the 
dead after candlelight ; when my father c .me home, my 
mother's corpse was gone to the place of interment — -I 
remember my father wept bitterly. The next day my 
nurse was sent for from Burlington, and ray little brother 
and myself were given into her care. My father took his 
departure for England. A few months after my father's, 
absence the nurse was alarmed by seeing the child in a 
fit ; the doctor was sent for, but in vain, the child was soon 
a corpse. When my father arrived from London, and 
the nurse informed him of the death of his son, his feel- 
ings were deeply wounded. He left me in the care of the 
nurse, and came to New- York, having letters of recom- 
mendation to Doctor Auchmuty, then minister of the old 
Trinity Church ; he insisted on my father's making his 
home with him till some place should become vacant. 
Accordingly my father did so, and he frequently by invi- 
tation preached for the doctor, in several of the protestant 
churches in New- York. Preaching one Sunday in the 
old Trinity Church, by request of Doctor Auchmuty, a 
widow by the name of Chambers, being one of the doc- 
tor's congregation, came to hear my father preach; she 
brought with her Miss Jay, who was her niece ; my father, 
being a handsome man, soon commanded the attention 
of that lady ; he was often invited to dine at the widow 
Chambers', where Miss Jay first got acquainted with my 



( 5 ) 

father ; she became very fond of him, although he was a 
stranger, and I have heard my father say that she was very 
unhappy when he was out of her sight. My father, being 
informed that Miss Jay was a lady of respectability and 
fortune, was advised by his friend, the doctor, to pay 
his addresses to her ; which lie did, and the marriage day 
was soon fixed on. They became man and wife ; and, 
as all the family were pleased with the marriage, 
my father expected something handsome from her father, 
Mr. Peter Jay; but he was much disappointed. Mr. 
Jay never gave him any thing excepting some furniture. 
Miss Jay was considerably advanced in years. Some 
time after marriage, my father was appointed minister at 
Philips' Manor. After they removed there, I was sent 
for. * My nurse brought me home from Burlington, to my 
step-mother. The nurse stayed a few days with me, and 
then returned home to her family. I remember I fretted? 
much after she left me, as my step-mother began to be 
very cross to me. When my father was from home, she- 
would for the least misconduct, whip me, then lock me 
up in the cellar for a whole day, without giving me 
either victuals or drink. The servants would sometimes- 
send me refreshments through the cellar window. Often 
in this situation have I cried myself to sleep ; and when- 
ever my father and she had any dispute, she would re- 
venge herself on me. When near her time, being ten 
months after marriage, she went to her fathers, who 
lived at Rye, and took me with her, where I remained alt- 
winter under the care of her mother and sister, who were 
kind to me. On the tenth day of January, 1766, she 
was delivered of a son, who was baptised by my father 
a few days after bis birth, and named Peter Jay Munro, 



( 6 ) 

after his grandfather, he standing god-father for him. 
This event caused great joy in the family, as he was the 
first grandchild. In the spring, we all returned home, 
and it became my business to rock the cradle ; he being 
very cross, I was frequently whipt because I could not 
quiet him. Her ill treatment of me was incessant, for I 
never was without marks of her cruelty ; she would pinch 
me till my flesh turned black, and then lock me up in the 
cellar till I almost perished for want of food. I am con- 
fident that if the servants had been as destitute of feeling 
as she was, I must have died. My father and she soon 
began to live unhappy, he finding himself disappointed 
in getting a fortune by her; and what contributed to in- 
crease it, she was neither handsome nor agreeable in any 
respect whatever — of a most desperate temper, she pos- 
sessed no qualification of a lady ; the longer they lived 
together, the more unhappy they seemed to be. 

My father, having some words with Mr. Philips, re- 
moved from there to Albany. The cruelty of my step- 
mother still continued, until, at length, the neighbours 
informed my father of her conduct towards me. He 
forbid her correcting me, and told her, that if I needed 
correction, he would do it ; but this admonition failed of 
success, for whenever he was from home, which was often 
the case, I would experience her cruelty in as great a 
degree as ever ; at last, as nothing else would do, my fa- 
ther boarded me out, and sent me to school. The hard 
usage I had received from her, had such an effect on my 
constitution, that the doctor, believing me to be in a decline, 
advised my father to have me removed to the country. 

My father had a patent of land granted him for his 
services as chaplain in the army; this entitled him 



( 7 ) 

to two thousand acres, which he drew in a place now 
called Hebron, in the county of Washington. As he 
wished to settle tenants on this patent, he went to this 
place in May 1775, and took me with him to spend the 
summer season. I had not been long there, before I 
perfectly recovered my health, and was much delighted 
with this change, being at liberty to range the woods as I 
pleased ; my time was chiefly spent in seeking birds eggs, 
and catching little fish with a pin hook. My father pro- 
vided a companion for me, a girl about my age, who went 
with me every where I pleased to go. The summer being 
past, my father said tome one day, Betsey, my dear, we 
must think of going home to Albany, the winter is com- 
ing on, and if you are a good girl, you shall come here 
again next summer. We were at dinner when my father 
spoke these words to me. After he went out, I went 
to my bed and wept bitterly ; to think of returning 
to my cruel step-mother, appeared to me worse in 
anticipation than death. I begged of my father to leave 
me in the country. I told him I did not wish to go home 
to my step-mother. My father seemed hurt at my ex- 
pressions, and said he would endeavour to get me board 
in a decent family, for the winter season, which he did. 
He was acquainted with a Mr. William Reid, who lived in 
a place now called Salem, in the county of Washington. 
I went there to spend the winter; my father took his leave 
of me, saying he believed he could not see me again till 
spring, as he had business in Philadelphia, which would 
detain him some time there. I was perfectly happy, be- 
cause I had not to return to my step-mother. On my fa- 
ther's road to Albany, hestopped at the house,of aScotch- 



( 8 ) 

man, by the name of Duncan Campbell, here he remained 
some days, the weather being very stormy ; during which, 
Mr. Campbell suggested his wishes to my father respecting 
his eldest son's paying his addresses to me, to which my 
father consented. Mr. Campbell lived five miles from 
where I was boarding. In a few days after my father's 
taking his leave of me, I received a letter from him on 
this subject : 

" Argyle, November 7th, 1775. 

* c My Dear Betsey, 

The badness of the weather has prevented me from 
proceeding on my journey. I have been these five days 
at Mr. Campbell's, but this day I shall take my departure 
from hence. My dear child, Mr. Campbell has requested 
the favour of me to consent that his son, Alexander Canp- 
bell, should pay his addresses to you ; I have given my 
consent : now let me beg of you to receive Mr. Campbell 
as a gentleman. I have likewise written to Mr. Reid, de- 
siring him to pay every attention to him when he visits 
you. 

Your affectionate Father, 

HARRY MUNRO." 

When Mr. Campbell paid his visit I was surprised that 
my father could consent to his coming to see me. — He 
was about six feet high, and forty-five years of age — no 
teeth, andgrey hairs ; of course, I could not like him. Af- 
ter a few visits he asked me to marry him. My answer 
was no. What does he do but go to Albany to see my 
father, in order to ask permission to make me his wife! 



( 9 ) 

though he failed of getting mine, he obtained my father's 
consent, and immediately bespoke his wedding clothes. 
He prevailed on my father to write me a letter, informing 
me what had been done. On his return he came to see 
me, and spent the afternoon ; after tea we took a walk 
some distance from the house, when he told me he had a 
letter for me from my father, and took out his pocket book 
.and gave it to me.— Anxious to return to my lodgings, to 
learn the contents of the letter, I excused myself, and 
went to my bed-room to read it.— The contents were ao 
follows : 

<c Albany, December 3d, 1775, 

" My Dear Betsey, 

" Mr. Alexander Campbell is herewith me, and has 
asked my consent for you to be his wife ; I have given my 
consent, providing his father will make over that part of 
his estate, that he now lives on, to his son, that in case of 
his son's death, his widow and children may have some* 
thing to depend on ; which request Mr. Campbell assures 
me, will be immediately complied with by his father ; 
therefore, my dear child, as soon as this is done, I shall 
-expect you to come to Albany with Mr. Campbell, to my 
house, to be joined in wedlock to a man whom I esteem 
as a good man and a gentleman ; and if you refuse your 
consent, you must not expect forgiveness from ma 
Your affectionate Father, 

HARRY MUNRO." 



( io ) 

When I received this letter, I was astonished at Mr., 
Campbell's conduct, to get my father's consent before he 
had obtained mine ; as Mr. Campbell was the bearer of 
this letter, I read it in his presence, and my answer to 
him was this—" Sir, as you have courted my father, you 
may marry him, for I will never marry you." — This soon 
came to my father's ears; I knew not what to do, I feared 
he would send for me home, which I dreaded— I was in 
great distress, knowing not what method to take to avoid 
the displeasure of my father, as I was very fond of him. — 
Some time before I left Albany to go into the country my 
father had purchased two small lots of land about half 
a mile from the city of Albany, on one he built a store 
house, on the other a dwelling house, where we lived. 
As I before mentioned, my father and step-mother lived 
very unhappy ; they had separate beds for each other, 
which is a bad sign ; her heart and soul were in her son. 
We had a large garden, and she was fond of spending her 
time in planting and transplanting. One day I remem- 
ber she was setting out cabbage plants, and had set out 
a great number, she held the stick she made use of in set- 
ting them out in her hand, and began to count them, 
when her little son came behind her and began to count 
after her ; this made her make a mistake several times in 
counting, she bid him be quiet several times, but he did not 
mind her ; at last she got in a passion and knocked him 
down with the stick. As soon as he fell she called for the 
wench to come, and told her she was afraid she had kil- 
led her child ; the wench took him up in her arms and car- 
ried him into the house and he soon recovered. That eve- 
ning as he and his mother were sitting together, his mother 
was telling a story to the servant maid concerning gov- 



( 11 ) 

cmor Golden hanging himself in his garden with his 
pocket haiiderchief because he was in great trouble ; her 
little son Peter paid attention to her story; I have 
often seen him sit and look her in the face, and at the 
end of every sentence his little head would give a nod. 
The next day as he seemed to be very dull, she asked several 
times if he was sick, he said no ; about twelve o'clock he 
went to the kitchen, and asked the wench to give him the 
small cord that hung in the kitchen; she asked him what 
he was going to do with it, he said he was going to play in 
the back yard. He took this cord and his little bench that 
he had to sit on (for he was a child about six years of 
age) and went back of a wood pile that was in the back 
yard, in which was a piece of wood that stuck out farther 
than the others— he stood on his bench and tied one end 
of the cord to this stick and the other end round his neck, 
then went on his knees by his little bench to pray— the 
wench, seeing what he was about, called his mother, and 
the cord was°taken off and he carried into the house— his 
mother was almost crazy; my father was from home. 
She asked him what made him try to hang himself ; « why 
governor Osborn, hung himself whenhe was in trouble, and 
I was going to hang myself, because you knocked me 
down in the garden yesterday." She was greatly alarm- 
ed for fear he would attempt it again. In a few days 
my father came home, and she informed him of what 
had happened, who said he ought to be corrected for such 
conduct— he called for him and whipt him for it ; his 
mother was so angry because my father whipt him, that 
she said she would cut her throat with her penknife, but 
thinking better of the business she only fell down in 



( m ) 

a fit, and was confined to her room a few days. — My 
brother, from the time he was ten years old has been under 
the care of the Jay family, as they are his relations. 

I had no relations. — I had to seek my living among, 
strangers. In the month of Janury, 1776, Mr. Fisher be- 
came acquainted with me. The first time I saw him was 
at a meeting.— Mr. Fisher being in the same regiment 
with my father, was very desirous of getting acquainted 
with me. He took his lodgings in the same house in 
which I boarded, where he was informed of what had 
passed concerning Mr. Campbell, my father, and myself.. 
He made Mr. and Mrs. Reid his confidents and told 
them that he would reward them handsomely if they 
would endeavor to get me to consent to permit him to vis* 
it me ; they soon by persuasion gained my consent to see 
Mr. Fisher. After he had been introduced by Mrs. Reid, 
she said that she and her husband had been acquainted 
with Mr. Fisher many years, that he was a good man, 
and a man of property, and would make a better hus- 
band to me than the man* my father wished me to have. — 
Being young and unexperienced in life, I soon was made 
to believe that I should do well by marrying Mr. Fisher ; I 
must confess I had no affection for him. The thoughts I 
had upon the subject were these : I shall have some one 
to take care of me — I shall have a home — I shall never be 
a trouble to my father, for surely he wants to be quit of 
me, or he would not have been so angry with me for re- 
fusing Mr. Cambell; and another thing which had great 
weight on my mind, was, that I should be out of my step- 
mother's power. After I. gave consent to Mr. Fisher, I 
sent Mr. Reid to my father to acquaint himLofMr. Fisher'a. 



( is ) 

intentions towards me, and wished him to consent to our 
marriage, which he refused, and was much displeased with 
me. He sat down and wrote me a severe letter, as fol- 
lows — 

* Base, unworthy Child, 

" What could tempt you to ruin yourself and break 
your father's heart ? I never will consent to your marriage 
with Mr. Fisher, for many reasons* — he is too old for you, 
and he is no gentleman. If you take any rash steps, your 
blood be on your own head. — I never will own you as my 
child, or give you one shilling portion. I thought you 
was a girl of more good sense and a better spirit than to* 
throw yourself away on the like of Mr. Fisher. 
Your offended Father. 

HARRY MUNRO." 
« To Miss Elizabeth Munro." 

My father at the same time forbid Mr. Reid letting Mr. 
Fisher see me ; but that was in vain, for we were engaged,. 
— When Mr. Reid returned and informed me what had 
passed between him and my father concerning me, I wasr 
almost distracted, I loved my father, and wished to please 
him. — At one time I was for running away, at another for 
drowning myself; at last, however, I told Mr. Fisher, I 
could not marry him altho' I had promised so to do. I then 
informed him of what had passed between Mr. Reid and. 
my father, I likewise showed him my fathers letter to me. 
Mr. Fisher's feelings were hurt at my father's expressions 
against him ; and he said he did not care for any portion 
my father could give ; all he wanted was me, and my con 
sent to be his wife ; he would make over all his property 
to me, which was done. I considered for a few days what 



( 14 ) 

was best for me to do ; I concluded to consent to marry 
him. Mr. Fisher went to New-York and got a licence from 
governor Tryon, and on the second day of Febuary, 1776, 
I went with Mr. Fisher to Albany, and was married by 
Mr. Vesterlowe, a Dutch minister ; I never went to see 
my father, but returned with Mr. Fisher to the country. 
No one was present at our marriage but 'Squire Moles- 
ter who took us to Albany in his sleigh. Mr. Fisher then 
took me among his relations who resided on land that be- 
longed to him. These people had the year before come 
from Scotland, some of them could not speak a word of En- 
glish — here I was unhappy, but said nothing — sometimes 
Mr. Fisher would find me in tears, and wished to know 
the cause, but I would not tell the reason, for the reason 
was, I hated him and all his relations, for every thing they 
said and did was strange to me, and disagreeable. One 
day as I was walking in the wood, (for it was all wild, ve- 
ry little improvement having been made at that time, be- 
ing new beginners,) I began to reflect on what I had done. 
I walked about a mile from the house, and sat myself 
down at the side of a large creek, where the water 
seemed to be deep; here I began to sum up all my trou- 
bles, and was fully determined to drown myself. I sat 
thinking and crying with my clothes unpinned, ready to 
jump in; the sunwas near setting, I then lay myself down 
on the bank to rest, for I felt much fatigued, and instead of 
jumping into the creek, I fell a sleep, with my gown turned 
over my head. I slept from sun down till ten o'clock at 
night, when I was surprised by Mr. Fisher raising me up 
in his arms, and asking me how I came there, and what I 
meant by going so far from home ; I told him I had got lost; 



( 15 ) 

observing my clothes all loose, he asked me how thej 
came so — to which I gave no direct answer. We went 
home ; I slept but little that night, for I was very unhap- 
py. The next morning he informed me, that when he 
came home the day before, he asked where I was, but no 
one could give any tidings of me, as the last that had been 
seen of me was about three o'clock, walking in a field 
at some distance from the house ; as night came on, my 
not appearing alarmed him very much — he went on the 
top of the house and blew the horn ; but seeing no ap- 
pearance of me, they at last set out to seek me, and came 
to the place where I was — it being dark, they saw some- 
thing on the ground that looked black, and when they 
came up found it was me, fast asleep. When I awoke I 
did not know where I was. 

We lived among Mr. Fisher's relations till the latter 
end of April, without hearing any thing from my father. 
A few days after the affair above related, I was standing 
at his brother's door, when Mr. Reid came and handed 
Mr. Fisher a letter to read ; the letter was written to Mr- 
Reid, the contents were these :■ — " Sir, I wish you to go 
to Mr. Fisher, and tell him to go to my patent and take 
his wife with him, and take possession of my house and 
farm and every thing that is there, as I am not satisfied 
that my daughter is living with his people." Mr. Fisher, 
remembering what had passed, was unwilling to go ; he 
did not wish to be beholden to my father ; but I was re- 
joiced at the news, and could not rest till he went with me 
there. I must say that Mr. Fisher was fond of me, and 
as I had lived there the summer before with my father, I 
thought it would seem like home to me ; so we went there 
the first of May. Mr, Fisher took with him his father* 



( 16 ) 

his half brother, a nephew and a niece, and we had 
a boy of my father that was bound to him till he was 
of age — this constituted our family. The house was fur- 
nished and the farm stocked. As Mr. Fisher did not un- 
derstand farming, all his business was left to other peo- 
ple. In June, as the people were mowing grass, Mr. 
Fisher having nothing to do, in order to amuse himself, 
gathered some small sticks which had fallen from the 
trees that stood near the barn, to which he set fire ; it 
now being near dinner time, the horn was blown for 
them to come. — While sitting at dinner, a smoke was 
observed coming round the house, they ran to the door, 
and, to their surprise, they saw the barn on fire ; the 
barn was filled with wheat and hay nf the year before. 
The fire, it seems, had been communicated from the brush 
Mr. Fisher had kindled, to the straw that was scattered 
around, and by that means conducted to the barn, and 
soon set it into a light blaze. They all ran to get out 
some calves that were confined, but could not ; the barn 
was consumed in a few minutes, 

So much for Mr. Fisher's work.— We did not raise 
enough to support our family— we spent the summer 
gaining nothing. On the 14th of November, 1776, 1 was 
put to bed of a fine son. During the winter I was con- 
fined to my room with a broken breast ; the child was 
very healthy. At this time Burgoyne came down with 
his army to Skeensborough ; this put the country all ii* 
confusion ; knowing not what to do, colonel Williams, 
being a head man on the side of the country, came to 
Mr. Fisher, and begged of him, as he had been in the 
British army, to go and procure a protection for him and 
all the committee in Salem, and, says he, I will send 



( 17 ) 

John Baker with you, that if you should be kept, Baker 
can return and inform us what is best to be done. Ac- 
cordingly Mr. Fisher took leave of his family, and went 
to see General Burgoyne ; he made known his errand, and 
sent Baker back with the result to Colonel Williams. I 
expected Mr. Fisher home every day. 

A few days after Baker's return, a party of riflemen 
surrounded our house, about six o'clock in the morning, 
and inquired for Mr. Fisher. I told them he was not at 
home ; they asked me where he was gone — I told them ; 
upon which they ordered me out of my house> with a 
threat that if I did not immediately comply they would 
burn me in it. I took my child from the cradle and 
went out of the house. — I sat down at a little distance, 
and observed them taking out all my furniture, and then 
they burnt the house- In this situation, without a home 
and no one near me to whom I could apply for advice or 
assistance — not knowing where nor which way to go to 
find Mr. Fisher, I was at a loss what to do. — At last, 
seeing a man drive a cow, I asked him which way he was 
going. — He answered to the camp. — I asked him if he 
would let me go along with him. — Yes, said he, if you can 
keep up with me. I arose from the ground (for I was 
sitting down with my child on my lap) and followed him. 
I walked that day, in company with this man, twenty- 
two miles, and carried my child ; by the middle of the 
day I had neither shoe nor stockings on my feet ; my 
shoes, being made of silk, did not last long, and my 
stockings I took off and threw away, on account of the 
fatigue of carrying my child and walking so far.— I was 
willing to lay down and die. On the road this man 
would often say that he did not know but. a party of In- 

c 



( 18 ) 

dians might be out a scouting, and if so, we should fall a 
sacrifice to them ; at first I was alarmed, but my fatigue 
at length was so great that I told him I wished they might 
come and kill me and my child, for I was almost exhaust- 
ed. I had nothing to eat or drink all that day, except 
the water he gave me out of the brooks with his hat. We 
saw several houses, but the people had fled from them. 
About sunset we came to a house where we found a wo- 
man and seven children. Her husband had gone — I 
stayed there that night ; the next day the man went with 
his cow into the camp; this cow was ail he had, and he 
wanted to sell her for money. I sent by him to Mr. 
Fisher, letting him know where I was. Mr. Fisher came 
to me that evening, and the next day I went into the 
camp. After I had been a few days in the camp, I 
bought every thing my child and I needed. I related 
to Mr. Fisher what had been done at home — he was 
much surprised at Williams' conduct, as he had sent him, 
and the men that burnt the house were under his com- 
mand—my furniture was sold at his house as tory proper- 
ty. We then concluded to remain in the British army ; 
we stayed in the camp till Burgoyne capitulated. In Oc- 
tober following, I was eye witness to the two- last battles 
at Stillwater— I was eye witness to the death of General 
Frazer — -I was in the same house with him — I saw his 
death and burial. After we were defeated we saw hard 
times ; provisions were scarce, and not to be had for mo- 
ney. I must now give you some account of what passed 
from the time of our retreat till the capitulation took 
place. We retreated after the last battle to Saratoga, 
where we encamped a small distance from the river, topre* 
vent their cannon having any conuoaad over us — having 



( 19 ) 

nothing to do, waiting General Burgoyne's orders. We 
were deprived of all comforts of life, and did not dare to 
kindle fire for fear we should be observed from the other 
side of the river, and they might fire on us, which they 
did several times. Being about the middle of October, 
we suffered cold and hunger ; many a day I had nothing 
but a piece of raw salt pork, a biscuit, and a drink of wa- 
ter — poor living for a nurse. At this time I had my child 
at my breast, being eleven months old. One day, 
wearied of living in this manner, I told some of the sol- 
diers' wives if they would join me, I would find out a way 
to get some provision cooked — seven of them joined me. 
I spoke to some of the soldiers that were invalid, and told 
them if they would make v up a fire back in the*wodfl, and 
get a large kettle hung on, we would fill it with provision, 
and cook it, which would last us some time. They con- 
sented to do it for a guinea ; they went to work and built 
up the fire, hung on the kettle, and put water in it, then 
we women put in what we pleased ; we soon filled it 
with a variety ; it began to boil ; we all kept a distance 
from the fire for fear of the cannon that were placed on 
the other side of the river on a high hill ; they soon dis- 
covered our fire, and saluted us with a cannon ball ; it 
struck and broke our kettle to pieces, and sent the provi- 
sion in the air. We met with no hurt only losing our in- 
tended feast. The soldiers demanded their pay, which I 
paid ; but as the disappointment was so great, the rest 
declined paying any thing, saying they had lost enough 
by losing their provision, so for my folly I had to pay for 
all. 

A few days after the capitulation took place, when I 
*aw the troops lay down their arms, I was glad, for I wag 



( 20 ) 

wishing to get out of the camp. Mr. Fisher said he 
should go to Canada. I refused going with him, and 
went back to Hebron, where I meant to have stayed. 
Mr. Fisher proceeded on his way to Canada. On his ar- 
riving at Diamond Island, he met my father, who asked 
for me. Mr. Fisher told him that I was not willing to go 
to Canada, at which my father was angry, and said he 
must go back and bring me and the child. Mr. Fisher 
came for me and told me what my father had said. I 
was surprised that my father should insist on my going to 
Canada, as I never had spoken a word to him since my 
marriage with Mr. Fisher. To please him I went, and 
when we got to Diamond Island my father was gone on 
his way. The next day we followed and overtook him 
at Mount Independent; he was walking in company 
with General Powell. When we landed, he came and 
took me by the hand and kissed me, and looking at my 
child, he asked me if I had named him, I told him I had 
not ; you must, says he, call him after me. This was 
the first time I had seen or spoke to my father since my 
marriage ; he likewise told me he would see me in Mon- 
treal. The next day we all set off to cross Lake Champ- 
lain ; the season of the year being far advanced, and go- 
ing to the northward, we found it very cold and stormy. 
We were eleven days on the lake, in an open boat, it 
snowed and rained every day ; we slept on shore every 
night on the ground, as there were no inhabitants on that 
side of the Lake in those days, for they had fled on ac- 
count of the war. On the £2d day of November we land- 
ed in Montreal. As the river St. Lawrence was almost 
frozen over, we found it exceedingly cold. 



( 21 ) 

I named my son Harry Munro Fisher. When we 
came to Montreal, we found the town very much crowd- 
ed, and house-rent and fire wood high. As we had no- 
thing to do, we hired some rooms and lived with a French 
family that winter ; the next spring we bought a house 
and began business. My father boarded with Mr. John 
Thomson, a Scotchman ; but as soon as he had got into 
comfortable lodgings, he was taken very bad with a cold, 
and for six weeks we did not expect he would recover. I 
went every day to see him, and to do some little things for 
him. One day as I was combing his head, he asked me if 
Mr. Fisher had any money by him, I said he had ; do you 
think, says he, Mr. Fisher would let me have some. I an- 
swered I did not know, but I would ask him. I told Mr. 
Fisher what my father said ; well, says he, Betsey, you 
have my money in keeping, you may act your own plea- 
sure with your father. The next day when I went to 
see my father, I told him Mr. Fisher was willing to let him 
have what he wanted ; he said he would not want any 
till the spring, when he was going home to London. Se- 
veral times he would ask me if I was contented with my 
husband ; I always said yes ; God knows I was not ; but 
I was ashamed to confess to my father that I was exceed- 
ingly unhappy. On the first day of January, 1778, being 
New Year's day, I took my chMd and went to see my 
father. I stayed with him the greater part of the day ; on 
coming away he put a guinea into the child's hand, and 
said he wished he was able to give him something more. 
My father continued to be very much afflicted with sick- 
ness during all that winter. He would frequently ask me 
how Mr. Fisher was, but never invited him to see him. 
One day as we were sitting alone, he said to me, Eetsey> 



( m ) 

you have made a bad choice in a husband ; Mr. Fisher is 
old enough to be your father, and you must expect soon- 
er or later to be left a widow, and perhaps with a family 
of small children, unprovided for. He often said to me 
I will endeavour to give 3^011 something before I leave you. 
I told this to Mr. Fisher. What can he give you, said 
Mr. Fisher, when he wants to borrow money to take him 
home. If he should offer you any money, continued Mr. 
Fisher, do not take it ; you do not want it, for we can 
help ourselves. Not long after my father said to me, 
Betsey, I intend to give you a deed of my patent of 
land, for you and your children, in case you should be- 
come a widow, that you may have something to depend 
on. I told him I did not want it ; for Mr. Fisher had for- 
bid me ac3epting any thing from him, as we did not stand 
in need. It is not to Mr. Fisher I mean to give it, it is to 
you and your children. I shall give it to you before I go, 
but I wish you to say nothing about it to him. I will 
also leave you my servant boy, he can wait on your child 
—which he did. On the 12lh d*y of February, 1778, 
he gave me a deed of his patent, telling me to take care 
of it, but never to say any thing concerning it till after 
his head was laid in the grave. I took it, but thought no 
more of it than I would of a piece of blank paper. The 
6th of May, as he was going to Quebec, on his way to 
London, he came to see me, and drank tea with Mr. 
Fisher and myself. Mr. Fisher asked him if he wanted 
some money, he said yes, he wished to have what he could 
spare, and asked what business we meant to follow. Mr. 
Fisher told him he intended to import goods the next year. 
Well, says my father, you may send your orders home to 
«*e, and you shall have your goods sent -you ; he theit 



(33 } 

took what cash he wanted, for which he gave a note, and 
then took leave of us, That year we bought a house, 
and sent an order home to my father for goods. When 
the shipping arrived, there were no goo\ls, not even a let- 
ter, from which we concluded that the old gentleman was 
dead. The year following we got Mr. William Aird, a 
Scotch merchant, to import goods for us, paying ten per 
cent, commission ; the goods came, and every year after 
that we got our goods from him. We heard not a? word 
from my father from the time he went home, which was in 
the year 78, till '86. 

We remained in Montreal and did business to great 
advantage ; but I was still unhappy, for as my husband 
advanced in years, his temper grew peevish, and he was 
very unhappy. I often asked him what was the cause of 
his unhappiness ; he said that when he looked at me 
and his dear little children, he was almost distracted, 
knowing he must soon leave us ; and at the same time 
made this observation, that if he could be so fortu nate as 
to leave us independent, he would die happy. He now 
began to neglect his business, thinking he could make 
more money by buying and gelling lands. At this time 
I was mother of four children, two sons and two daugh- 
ters. I endeavoured to discourage Mr. Fisher from his in- 
tended proceedings. In the year 1786, a gentleman by 
the name of Covel, who was a captain in the British 
army, called on me and told me he had just arrived 
from London, where he had seen my father, and had di- 
ned with him several tinaes ; he told me that my father 
had given him a letter to deliver to me with his own hand, 
which he did. I was happy in hearing that my father 
was living, although his conduct was not so pleasing as I 



( 24 ) 

wished. When the captain went away I opened my let- 
ter and read it. The contents were these : he informed 
me of his having put in his claim to government for his 
losses in America, wishing me to procure the affidavits of 
three respectable men, who were acquainted with his 
landed property in America. I got Mr. Alexander Camp- 
bell, my once intended husband by my father, and Mr. 
James Campbell, his brother, and Alexander Fisher, those 
three men, being acquainted with the land, went before 
Judge Frazer, of Montreal, and appraised the £,000 acres 
of land on oath, at 5 dols. per acre ; this being done, I 
enclosed the affidavits in a letter to my father, which he 
received. He made no apology in his letter for not wri- 
ting to us before, and I never asked him the reason why 
he did not, but it caused me many a tear. 

In the month of February, '87, Col. Jessup came from 
London to Montreal, and brought me a letter from my 
father, wherein he acknowledged the receipt of my letter 
and the affidavits I had enclosed to him, observing that 
they came to hand in good time, and said that he had re- 
ceived compensation from government for his losses in 
America, in three dividends ; desiring me to remember 
whose daughter I was, and at his death I should have 
something handsome. At this time I was mother of five 
children, two sons and three daughters. Mr. Fisher at 
this time was fully determined to quit business, and be- 
come a land speculator. In March, 1788, he left Mon- 
treal and went home to England to purchase land from 
one David Milligan, who had land in Washington county, 
state of New- York ; he purchased those lands and re- 
turned to America the year following. He then left 
Montreal and resided in the United States where his lands 



( 25 ) 

were, and left me in Montreal with my small family to 
shift for myself. My trial was hard, for he left me no 
support when he went away, excepting some outstand- 
ing debts for me to collect, which came in very slow, he 
being absent, and I a woman. He took all the cash that 
was in the house with him. After three years absence 
he wrote me a letter, desiring me to come and bring the 
children with me, as he had a good home for us ; accord- 
ingly I sold all off and went to him, expecting to find 
every thing ready for my reception ; but great was my 
disappointment when I arrived and found him living 
with his sister in a small log house ; instead of having a 
home, I was obliged to hire two rooms of aMr. Smith, 
for myself and family ; there I remained one year. I 
took with me plenty of clothing and provisions. Seeing 
myself unprovided for, I repented that I had broke up 
house-keeping, and was determined to return to Mon- 
treal and try to get a living for myself and children. 
When Mr. Fisher found it was my wish to return, he and 
his sister's children took every thing from me, even my 
clothing, and I had to make my escape by night. Afte* 
this I never lived with Mr. Fisher as a wife. When I re- 
turned to Canada I hired a house and took in work for a 
living, as I had nothing else to depend on. My father and 
brother paid no attention to my wants; my eldest son 
being now sixteen years of age, and having all the edu- 
cation that I could give him, I bound him to Mr. Isaac 
Todd, merchant, who took him to the country, where ho 
is now married to his second wife, and is father of five 
children. I am informed that he is a man of a hand- 
some interest. My yongest son continued at school, and 
my daughter I kept at home. I found I could not support 



( as ) 

myself and family in a city by industry, and having 
lived a few years before in a state of affluence, I could not 
bear the idea of staying in Montreal ; and to return to 
Mr. Fisher I would not. I spent days and nights think- 
ing what I should do, and at last concluded to go to He- 
bron and live on my father's patent, as I thought I could 
do better in a country place. I left Montreal and went 
there ; when I came there I made a bargain with Daniel 
Plumley for his house and farm, for three hundred pounds; 
this was for his improvements, as I thought the soil was 
mine. I came there the ninth of March, 1798; the 
twenty-ilrst of September following* Mr. Fisher, after a 
few days illness, departed this life. On his death bed I 
visited him frequently ; he seemed hurt" to think he had 
behaved to me in the manner I have related, but said it 
was the fault of his relations ; they advised him to it ; he 
hoped I would forgive him. After his death I seemed to 
be more reconciled, for he was a great trouble to me when 
living. My daughter Eliza and myself lived together 
Very happy. 

Without observing the order of time, I must go back 
and relate some circumstances which may not be uninter- 
esting to the public. I at first thought it best to omit 
them ; but as they tend to fill some chasms in the forego- 
ing narrative, and as it is my object to give a correct out- 
line of my history, I will here relate them. 

In the year '90, 1 received a letter from Mr. Fisher to 
meet him at Caldwell's Manor, on Lake Champlain, in 
which he desired me to bring the children with me to see 
him. I took my children and a negro girl to wait on us, 
and went to see Mr. Fisher. After staying there a week, 
I thought it time to return, as we had to put up at his half 



C *? ) 

brother's, who was a poor man. The next day 1 hired ft 
sleigh to take us home. When he saw I was determined 
to go, he took my negro girl and sold her to one Joseph 
Mon, for seventy pounds, who took her to his house. J 
I thought hard of Mr. Fisher's conduct towards me, 
knowing that I had our children to take care of. I took 
my children and set off for home. As I was riding along, 
I formed a plan which I was determined to put in execu- 
tion I ordered the driver to stop at a Mr. Duer's, 
which was about eight miles from the British lines. I de- 
livered my children, my pocket-book with papers, and my 
money, excepting what I might want, to Mr. and Mrs. 
Duer, and told them, that if any thing should happen to 
mo, to send my children and property to Mr. Fisher, at 
Montreal, who was nephew to my husband; they pro- 
mised they would. The children were put to bed, and 
knowing nothing of my departure, fell asleep. I ordered 
the sleigh to be in readiness, and borrowed a great coat 
and fur cap of John Lockard Wiseman, and set off with a 
full intent to " conquer or die." I told the man what I 
was going to do, and desired him not to expose himself, as. 
I should act as I thought proper. We set off from Mr. 
Duer's about eight o'clock in the evening, and rode on tife 
lake as the ice was good. On passing Wind-mill Point, 
we observed a number of people in a tavern. I wanted 
to know if Mr. Fisher or Mr. Mott were to be there ; ac- 
cordingly I left the sleigh on the ice, walked in the house, 
and called for a glass of gin; while there I had a full 
view of the company. I knew them— neither Mr. Fisher 
nor Mr. Mott were there ; but I was informed at this 
place that Mr. Fisher had taken a wench from his wife 
and sold he* to Mr. Mott, and that he had gone to Mr. 



( » ) 

Mott's to stay till he should return to the States. I was 
pleased at this information, and went on in pursuit of the 
negro girl who loved me beyond expression. I arrived at 
Mr. Mott's about two o'clock in the morning ; I then or- 
dered the driver to turn the sleigh, and be ready to start 
as soon as the girl got into it. I walked up to the house, 
and knocked at the door — no one answered. I took hold 
of a string, opened the door, and went in. Mr. Fisher 
was lying in bed, and the girl before the fire on the floor. 
When Jane saw me she got up and began to cry. I 
whispered her to be quiet. Mr. Fisher awoke, and got 
up, saying he well knew my business, but I should find 
myself mistaken. You want Jane, said he, but shall not 
have her, for I have sold her to Mr. Mott. I spoke very 
little. All the family got up while Jane was making the 
fire ; I told her to jump into the sleigh ; she took the 
hint, and went out of the door ; seeing the sleigh, she 
got in, when they went off and left me setting by the 
fire. Hearing the sleigh make a noise on the ice, and 
missing Jane, every one ran to the stable for a horse, and 
galloped after it. They overtook the sleigh and brought 
it back to a tavern ; they beat the man almost to death, 
took his sleigh from him, and made him a prisoner. This 
tavern was about two miles from the place were I found 
Jane. I saw them return and pass by. Unable to pro- 
cure a sleigh, I set out on foot, and arrived at the tavern 
about day-light. I found the man lying on a bench, the 
girl was confined in the house, and the horses and sleigh 
locked up in the stable. I spoke to Mr. Gregof (for that 
was the man's name who owned the horses and sleigh) 
and told him npt to go to sleep, but to lie still until I 
should give the signal for him to be ready. He did so; 



( 29 ) 

I went into the bar-room where a large company had as- 
sembled to hear the news. When Mr. Fisher saw me 
there he said to me, « Well, madam, you thought you 
would get Jane, but you shall not ; I Mill let you know 
tnat I am your master; and as for Mr. Gregory he shall 
go to jail, and lose his sleigh and horses." I said little, 
but thought a great deal. 

I saw they ivere all drinking very freely, and Mr. Fish- 
er by this time being under full sail, I called for e^-no" 
masting on the company to drink, as I had lost, it Was my 
treat, for they had had a great deal of trouble with m~ 
all night About eight o'clock in the morning they all 
felt fatigued, and went to take a nap-no sleep was near 
me. When all were at rest, I called the landlord and 
a ked him what I had to pay ; he told me that I had paid 
him. I then asked him to walk out with me ; he went 
with me out of the house, when I infoimed him what 
had happened during the night, told him that I wanted 
him to go to bed, and permit me to take the sleic-h \ rd 
horses out of his barn, and my wench out of his^n4 
and make my escape. If you will comply, said I, you 
fall be well paid for it. I then put two hadf-joes info lis 
hand and he went to bed. I went to the mL and cfo! 
sired him to go to the barn and fix his sleigh and horses as 
quick as possible, While he was doing tins, I we, t 1 nfo 
ti* garret and awoke the wench; thetleigh beinfr adf 
the wench and myself jumped in, and away weCS' 
we never stopped till we came to Mr. Duet's hriiup' 
where I had left my children the day before. When we 
arrived there it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Mrs 
Duer got tea for us. I paid her for her trouble, returned 
my borrowed coat and cap to Mr. Wiseman, took my chil- 
dren, and proceeded on my journey to the. Isle of No* 



( 30 ) 



* +w nicrlit bein" then out of danger, 
where we spent that night, oem 
The next day we arrived home in Montreal. I paid M" 
S; for hi" trouble, and he returned home to his annly. 
I wfs determined this should be my last vistt to M* 

Fisher, unless I could go alone. 

Sometime afterthislwaswaskngsomejhmgs^ 

for her. A tew aays <u^ ffW ehma bill 

Clark in Montreal for thirty pounds, and gave turn 

° f Trench was made a present to me by my step mo- 
1 his w cncn gix g of age . 

ther, in the year 85, wh.n sftew . his wench) 

I *^^5^23« butasl 
will be received with approbation by the^ P» b 
wish to give a correct account of all I c^re 
thing shall be intentionally omitted, whether 
against me. 



( 31 ) 

in this year ['85] I came from Montreal to New- York 
to see my brother, after his return from England, where 
he had been with his uncle, John Jay. I found him at 
Bedford, studying law with John Strong, Esq. ; he was 
then a lad of about nineteen years of age. — I was happy 
to see him. The Jay family all treated me very well ; 
even my step-mother seemed happy to see me, and made 
many inquiries after my father. She wished me to write 
to him, and heg him to write to her, " for," said she, " I 
nave frequently written to him, but have received no an- 
swer, which makes me very unhappy " I promised her I 
would. 

I spent the winter in New- York. On my return in the 
spring, I wrote to my father and informed him of my vi- 
sit to New- York, and how kindly I was received by Mr. 
Jay's family ; what a promising youth my brother was, 
and how happy I was in seeing him. I likewise informed 
him how desirous my stepmother was that he should 
write to her ; and observed that she was sensible of her 
ill conduct towards me when under her care ; how she 
had confessed that her conscience upon reflection made 
her very unhappy, and begged my forgiveness, saying, that 
if I could forgive her, she would die in peace. I forgave 
her, and begged of my father also to forgive her Upon 
which he wrote to me in the following manner : 

" My Bear Betsey* 

c< You write rng that you have been to New- York to 
see your brother and the Jay family. I am surprised that 
you can write or correspond with a family that has aba- 
sed your father in the manner they have done. My wish 
h that you will have nothing to say to, any of %m v I 



( 31 ) 

never will write to Mrs. Munro for many reasons, and I 
wish you not to make mention of her in your letters to me. 
I thought you had a better spirit than to wish to corres- 
pond with your father's bitter enemies.' 5 

I confess my feelings were hurt at his letter. I thought 
he was cruel towards his wife, but did not understand the 
cause ; I knew they did not live happy when together. 
After that, when I wrote I never made mention of any of 
that family, for fear of hurting his feelings. 

I must here give my readers some account of my con- 
duct during the time I lived with my step-mother, she be- 
ing so cruel, I was always on ray watch to do her all the 
mischief I could. She had a parrot that she used to learn 
to tell every thing that passed when she was gone from 
home. One day our hired women expected company to 
drink tea— they went into the cellar and took butter and 
flour to make some cake— Poll wasvery quiet— they drank 
tea and went away ; some of the cake being left, they 
put it in a basket and hung it up in the kitchen— my 
mother came home, and went into the kitchen, when Poll 
began to talk, "cake, basket— cake, basket mistre ss." My 
mother went and took down the basket, and found the 
cake, for which the servants got a severe reprimand. 
I had been playing in the yard, and with a stone I knock- 
ed over one of her little bantum hens. I was for throwing 
it into the necessary, but the servants requested me to 
give it to them— they threw it into the #ven. When my 
mother was done scolding about the cake, Poll cried out 
" oven— chicken— oven— chicken." She opened the oven 
and found the fowl— she began to inquire how it came 
there ; they told her that as I was playing in the gar- 



( S3 > 

den, I went to drive out the hen and by accident hit it 
with a stone and killed it, they had taken it to cook* 
I was called for ; nothing would excuse me from a whip- 
ping, and I got it severely. I was determined from that 
"moment to be the death of the parrot, when opportunity 
would serve. 

One evening as my mother had gone out to supper, I 
was trying to discover some method to kill the parrot 
without its coming to the knowledge of the servants ; at 
length I hit upon one, which was, to give her fat meat 
with salt on it. When my mother came home, the parrot 
was sick, and in the morning she died — at this I secretly 
rejoiced. 

Every summer my step-mother and her son went to 
New-York, to see their relations — I was always left at 
home. When they returned, they Avould bring home 
birds, dogs and many other things to amuse themselves 
with. At one time they brought home a slut of which 
she was very fond ; the slut, by her orders, slept in the 
entry every night, and if she made any dirt, it was my 
business to clean after her ; I at length got very tired of 
this employment, and was determined, if possible, to put 
an end to her life, 

One morning, my step-mother got up earlier than usu- 
al, and found my morning's work unfinished, for which 
she gave me a whipping ; the same evening I saw an 
old carman that I knew, to whom I made my complaint j 
he told me he would assist me in getting rid of the slut- 
accordingly, %it night, it being moon-light, he came and 
got the slut to follow him — he took her some distance 
from the house, and killed her, Great inquiry wsk$ 



( % ) 

made after the slut, and a reward offered, but she never 
appeared ; so my labour in this business ended to my 
great satisfaction. 

We had another dog for my brother's pleasure. This 
one I had to feed, and when lost, to find him. One day 
Penny, (for that was his name,) was missing. I was 
told to look for him, but as I could not find him, I did not 
dare to go home ; what to do in this predicament, I knew 
not, but was fully bent on killing the dog if I should find 
him. At last the dog came home, which occasioned great 
joy with mother and son, but not with me, for I yet felt the 
smart of the whipping I received for not finding him. At 
night, when my brother was asleep, I drowned the' dog. 
The next morning I was again sent to look for him, but 
could not find him. I told a little boy where he was, 
and desired him to go and tell the news, which he did ; 
the dog was carried home and decently buried. 

My mother was a woman who thought that if the 
dogs barked at night, some one was coming to rob her. 
She slept up stairs by herself ; whenever the dogs began 
to bark, she would open the window, clap her hands and 
Cry out " catch him, Cloe ! catch him, Cloe I" This was 
her slut's name. One night as I lay in bed, I thought I 
would do something to frighten the old lady ; so just be- 
fore day I got up and took the key of the store-house, 
and opened the doors and windows — I upset every thing 
I was able to lift, and threw several pieces of meat out 
of the door and window. I left them open, and hung 
up the key in the same place where I got^jt, and went to 
bed again, watching the motions of my mother. A little 
after day, she got up and looked over towards the store- 
house, and saw the door and windows all open — she ran 



( 35 ) 

down in her chemise, and told my father the store was 
broken open, and robbed of every thing ; over they both 
went, with very little clothing on them, for they were in 
too great a hurry to put on any. They saw pork and 
beef laying outside of the door ; after taking a thorough 
view, they returned to the house, and calculated their 
loss — by their account, they had lost a great deal, but in 
fact they did not lose the value of a cent. After break- 
fast my father went and ordered the printers to put up 
advertisements through the town, and offered five pounds 
reward for the thief; he then went to the blacksmith's 
and ordered him to put iron bars across the door and win- 
dows, but no thief was discovered. I would often ask my 
father if he had found out the thief: No, child, said he, 
I wish I could. I had a mind to tell him it was me, 
but was afraid of making him angry. He never knew 
who it was. I did it to vex my mother ; but was sorry for 
my father. 

In the year '89, having business in the states, I left 
Montreal, and crossed Lake Champlain. On my arrival, 
Mr. Fisher, who was there at that time, came to the land- 
ing to see me ; at our meeting he was introduced to a 
young man who had lived in my house in the capacity of 
a merchant. Mr. Fisher gave t^is gentleman an invita- 
tion to his house to spend a few days, which he did. Af- 
ter some days had passed, I perceived by Mr. Fisher's 
discourse that he was unhappy on account of this man's 
having been in company with me on board of the vessel. 
He was advis*ed by his nephew to ask this man, if he was 
willing to be qualified before a justice, that he had no 
criminal connexion with me during the passage over the 
lake. The young man, was surprised at this re- 



( S8 ) 

quest, but consented to give every satisfaction in his 
power to appease the mind of Mr. Fisher. 'Squire Shel- 
den was the man sent for to do the business. I was pre- 
sent. After the young man had taken his oath, these ques- 
tions were put to him : Did you ever, at home or abroad, 
have any carnal knowledge of my wife ? He replied 
no. In my absence, as you boarded in the house, did 
you ever see any man pay attention to my wife in a 
criminal way ? No, sir, I never did. He was asked many 
more questions of the same nature, till he and his ne- 
phew were satisfied. The 'squire got his dollar for ad- 
ministering the oath, and returned home, leaving us to 
think what we pleased on this subject. As for my part, I 
cannot express my feelings. The young man asked Mr. 
Fisher if he was satisfied; Mr. Fisher said yes. He 
then proceeded on his journey to Boston. After he was 
gone, I asked Mr. Fisher what he meant by such conduct 
—If he and I had any knowledge of each other, said I, 
do you think he would confess it—or do you think I 
would ? No, my dear man, I never would ; and for what 
has passed, you and I must bid adieu to each other. It 
may well be conjectured, how unhappy I felt on this oc- 
casion. I was bent on going home as soon as possi- 
ble, never to return more. After my return home I met 
with more trouble. I left White-Hail with capt. Gilbert 
• — we had three passengers besides myself. We set sail 
with a fair wind, and arrived at Burlington about sun- 
set. Our boat being nothing but a small barge, we con- 
cluded to stay at Burlington that night We supped and 
spoke for lodgings ; but the captain ordered us on board 
again by ten o'clock at night ; there being no woman on 
Wrd but myself, I refused going, but the captain insist- 



( 37 ) 

ed so hard upon our going that we all consented and 
went on board. By this time the wind was very high ; 
the captain said however there was no danger. When 
we got into the bay, which is very wide, (I think twenty 
two miles) it was midnight, and every one had to take 
his turn at the pump. The captain, having liquor oi\ 
board, drank so freely that he lost his way. At three 
o'clock in the morning we found ourselves at the lower 
end of the bay, among the rocks, expecting every instant 
to go to the bottom— at last we struck, and immediately 
filled with water. By jumping overboard, and getting 
on the rocks, we were saved from being drowned. When 
day appeared, we sat on a high rock, and saw at a dis- 
tance a canoe — we hoisted a signal of distress, which 
was my white pocket handkerchief, that being all we 
had left, having lost in the storm the whole of our bag- 
gage, excepting a small box of papers belonging to Cap- 
tain Grant who was in Montreal, which had drifted on 
shore. We were taken off the rock and put ashore five, 
miles from Cumberton Head, where we had to go for break- 
fast — w T et and wearied as we were, those live miles we had 
to walk through a w T ood, and only a foot path. We 
reached there about ten o'clock in the morning, and got 
some refreshments. The men went in search of another 
boat, and I went to bed and slept till five o'clock m the 
evening; I then got up and went on board, when we 
sailed for St. Johns, where I thought myself at home. 
The next day I took stage for Montreal. 

Having left my eldest daughter with her father in the - 
country, on account of her ill health, she being a weekly 
child, I was very anxious to go and bring her home ; 
the ice being good, and plenty of snow, 4 1 took a sleigh 



( 38 ) 

and went for her. When I came there, I found her very 
sick ; after staying there ten days she died. When Mr. 
Fisher saw me going to return, he forbade the man taking 
me with him. — -I insisted on going, and go I did. We 
went about eight miles, when an officer stopped us and 
made us prisoners, and bound us over to appear at court. 
I had to give bail to the amount of five hundred pounds 
for the man. The court sat the next day, and a great 
crowd of people were gathered to hear the trial. The man 
was charged with taking me away, being the wife of Mr. 
Fisher, and with having Mr. Fisher's property with him- — 
Mr. Fisher was present with Lis nephew— I plead my 
own cause, and likewise the man's, . who was almost 
frightened to death, for fear he should loose his horses 
and sleigh. The court opened about six o'clock in the 
evening, and dismissed us about ten o'clock at night. I 
gained the cause, and took my departure from thence 
for Montreal. 

By these trials it may be seen what I suffered in a mar- 
ried state.—- What I have gone through since the death 
of Mr. Fisher, the following will show. 

In the year 1800 I was advised to try the virtue of 
the deed I had in my possession for many years. I sent 
for a lawyer and took his advice, which was to serve 
writs of ejectment on two or three of the tenants, and 
that would settle the validity of the title. I did so ; the 
tenants that were on the land held a lease from my bro- 
ther, Peter Jay Munro, as their landlord. On my bro- 
ther's hearing what I had done, he came up to Hebron in. 
company with Samuel Young ; he did not stop at my 
house, but rode past, asid put up at a Mr. Daniels. The 
day after his arrival he sent Mr. Young to my house 



( 39 ) 

to ask me to come to Mr. Daniels to speak with him. I 
told Young I would not — that if Mr. Munro had any bu- 
siness with me, I was at home, and he might come and see 
me. He came, accompanied by Mr. Young, and after sit- 
ting a few minutes, asked me what I had been about. I told 
him I wished to try titles with him. He asked me if I 
was willing to show the deed ; I said yes, and went to my 
trunk, and gave him the -deed to read. He asked me con- 
cerning the witnesses. I gave him every information in 
my power who they were, and where they lived. My 
brother went with Mr. Young to his house. The next 
day he came again, and asked me many questions. I 
gave every information in my power. A few days after 
this he made some proposals to me, which I rejected, 
thinking he wanted to take advantage of me. I knew 
ftt the same time that my father had given him a quit- 
claim of the same property I held the deed of. He went 
away much displeased with me. 

After my brother parted with me in Hebron, he went 
to Albany, entered a complaint, and had me taken pris- 
oner and carried to Albany jail, where I remained from 
the Q7th of October, till the ninth of March, at which 
time I was tried upon a charge of forgery— and a man 
by the name of John Nira . Smith, to my utter astonish- 
ment, swore that he saw that deed executed in Ruport, 
in the State of Vermont, by Adonijah Crane. This evi- 
dence, being so pointed, I was sentenced to the state's 
prison for life. In a few days I left Albany and came to 
the New-York state's prison, and arrived on the 19th of 
March, but could not believe that I was to be a prisoner 
till I found the keys turned on me. I thought my bro- 
ther could not be so cruel as to imprison a poor widow 
woman, who had suffered every thing but death, by hav* 



( 40 > 

ing a cruel step-mother, a disagreeable partner in life, and 
left to an unfeeling and unpitying world, with three chil- 
dren, to do the best I could for a living. Such thoughts 
made me think my brother would be merciful. But no, 
his heart was untouched with mercy — I was to be immu- 
red in a prison for life. Caring not for a life thus de- 
voted^ I behaved very bad for a few days, for my wish was 
that they would punish me with death. I went in on 
Friday. On Monday the inspectors thought proper to 
place some confidence in me — they put the women pri- 
soners under my command, which command I received 
with reluctance, but was pleased, nevertheless, with this 
mark of distinction. I should be wanting in my duty, if 
I passed by, without making known to the public the at- 
tention with which I was treated— they seemed to try to 
make me happy. After I had received my orders front 
Thomas Eddy and John Murray, I was desired by them 
to make choice of a room for myself, and a person to at- 
tend me. My provisions were sent me from the head 
keeper's table. I lived well, and was used well in every 
respect ; but still, in the solemn midnight hour, when all 
niy family were asleep, instead of taking rest, I would 
walk the lonely hall, and view those dreary cells wherein 
I was confined from the world — and for what, I knew not. 
Often at such times did I read the history of Joseph in the 
Bible, it being so similar to mine. After I had taken 
charge of these poor wretches, I called them all together 
in a large room, and spoke to them in this manner : 

" Fellow Prisoners^ 

« As fate has decreed that I am to be one of this un- 
happy family, ajjd the commanders of thk place having 



( « ) 

thought proper to appoint me an assistant keeper, my 
sincere wish is that you will endeavour to obey their or- 
ders in every respect ; and in obeying their's you will obey 
mine, for I shall require nothing from you that will be 
contrary to their orders to me ; and by this method you 
will obtain their good will, and the good will of a woman 
who will have your welfare at heart, and will make it her 
study to make every thing as agreeable to 3^011 as this 
place will allow, hoping your conduct may be such, that 
whenever I am called upon to make a report, it may be 
favorable. My rules I will lay down before you, and you 
must be governed by them. If you refuse, I shall be 
obliged to compel you to submit." 

I then took my station, and every thing went on very 
quiet ; they were very fond of me, yet feared me, and 
never refused doing what I ordered them to do. I had 
the privilege of walking in the yard and garden, which 
made my time pass more agreeably. I enjoyed good 
health during my confinement, which was from the nine- 
teenth of March, 1801, till the third of June, 1806. Gov. 
Lewis then thought proper to sign a pardon, and set me 
at liberty. I parted from my family with sorrow, because 
I was going to leave them in confinement. During my 
imprisonment, my conduct met with universal approba- 
tion. I heard no complaints, and parted with them in 
friendship. After delivering up every thing I had in 
charge, I took my leave, and went before the inspector, 
who gave me ten dollars. I am not mistress of language 
to express my feelings on going out of the gate. I came 
out alone. — I knew no person ; I did not even know the 
way to town, and was altogether at a loss what to do, 

F 



( «. ) 

I felt nearly as bad coming out, as I did going in. I met 
with a friend who lived a small distance from the prison ; 
he took me to his house, and made me welcome, till I 
could better myself. The next day I went to town to see 
my brother, but he refused to speak to me. I lived at this 
friend's house two months— during which time I had an 
offer of marriage from a man that I am sure would have 
made me a good husband ; but I had no affection for him, 
and for that reason I would not have him. I knew what 
it was to marry a man one does not love, After two 
months I hired two rooms in the city, and took in needle 
work of all kinds, and worked late and early to get a liv- 
ing. I made out to live decently. I kept no help. Du- 
ring the last four years I have written many letters to 
people who were "under many obligations to me in former 
days, relating my situation, but to my great surprise, re- 
ceived no answer, which makes the old proverb true, 
" prosperity makes friends, and adversity tries them." I 
have now been four years from prison ; my brother has 
never stept forward to assist me in any shape, and my 
children seem to have forgotten that I am their mother. 
Since my confinement, I have suffered many an hour of 
affliction in seeing my children possess such unnatural 
dispositions towards me, who would go any lengths to 
serve them. Till now, I have been frequently asked why 
I did not try to. make friends with my brother ? I will leave 
it to himself if I have not condescended to the utmost to 
accomplish it ; but nothing will do — I must set out with a 
resolution to gain a living for myself, and think no more 
of brother nor children. Hard is the task, but I am de- 
termined to do it. I believe the public in general will say 
that I have stood my trials through life with great forti- 



( 43 ) 

tilde. I feel for my brother, for I am sure he cannot be a 
happy man. I am sure, on reflection, he must feel hurt. 
He is father of a family ; he must feel for his children; 
so must I, when torn from them and cast into a prison to 
drag out a miserable existence, forever a disgrace to my- 
self and children. He must feel wretched on reflect- 
ing that it adds neither credit to himself nor to his 
family. I am his sister, and he cannot deny it. I am 
all the sister he ever had. My father, I hope, is. in hea- 
ven ; but I cannot avoid reprehending his conduct to me 
while living. To say one thing to me, and to say and do 
another, quite contrary, to my brother— writing to me not 
to correspond with my brother, nor any of the Jay fami- 
ly, saying they were his enemies, and at the same time 
corresponding with them himself, is conduct that cannot 
be justified; it has been, I believe, the whole cause of my 
brother's going to such extremities with regard to the 
property ; but as he was a man of fortune, there surely 
was no necessity of practising upon me so much cruelty. 
If this world was offered me to make me treat him as he 
has me, I would not do it. What is property ? It is only 
lent, and we must soon leave it ; then we shall no more 
contend who shall have the most — no state's prison to be 
sent to if we cannot agree — -no false witnesses to swear 
against us. I never blamed the judge for my sentence, 
for the evidence was so pointed against me that they 
could not do otherwise. I have been told by a gentle- 
man in this town, that if I would behave myself, my bro- 
ther would not see me want for any thing. I wish I knew 
what kind of behaviour he wishes. I have been four 
years living in New-York, and I defy any person to say 
any thing that is disrespectful of my conduct. I have 



\ 



( 44 ) 

always lived in a decent neighbourhood, my conduct 
must be known by them, and by them I am willing to be 
judged. I want nothing from him, and if I did I do not 
think I should get.it; for I know his heart ; I have full 
experience of his good mil towards me and my family ; 
my innocent children feel the smart of his conduct more 
than I do at this present lime— for I am advanced in years 
— it matters no great with me which way things go while 
I remain. But my children, just stepping on the stage 
of life, to have such a slur of character on them as to be 
told — "your mother has been in the state's prison for 
forgeky !" My readers, you who have become parents, 
how does this impress your minds ? Who among you 
does not feel for me and for them ? What an uncle ! What 
a cruel brother ! What an inconsiderate father ! For his 
children must sooner or later have it cast up to them that 
their father put his sister, their aunt, in prison for forgery. 
Who among } t qu would purchase property at so dear a 
rate ? During this life it can never be paid— the world can- 
not compensate me fcr what I have undergone. While 
in confinement, I had the pleasure of receiving a visit 
from the Rev. Dr. Peters, who had lately come from Lon- 
don ; he knew me from my infancy, and asked me what 
was the cause of my confinement ; when I had told him, 
he was surprised, saying that my father informed him 
that he had given his daughter a deed of two thousand 
acres of land. You will read his letter to me after my li- 
beration — the contents are as follows : 

" The Rev. Harry Monro said in London, in 1778, that 
he had given to his daughter, Elizabeth Fisher, his pa- 
tent right of two thousand acres of land in the county of 



( 45 ) 

Albany, eastward of Saratoga, that being all in his pow- 
er to give her, and he feared it would be confiscated, be- 
cause she and her husband were royalists ; but as to his 
son, he said he had a rich mother, and the Jay family 
would take care that he should want for nothing."^ 

This has been a dear gift to me ; I never wish to re- 
ceive any more such. 

I am told my father left a will, but I have not seen it ; 
one copy was sent to my brother, the other to Montreal 
while I was in prison, so that it fell into the hands of my 
children ; and ever since that time I was deprived of see- 
ing them — they seem to act towards me with great cool- 
ness. — But why ? Because I have been unfortunate and 
become poor. I shall now leave them to God and the 
world. From this day I will deny all family connexion. 
A hard sentence from a parent ; but who, my candid 
reader, I again appeal to you, who, treated as I have been, 
would not do the same ? Ten long years in a state of af- 
fliction and misery, and not so much as one of them to 
enquire after their mother, or even to send a letter to me ; 
and having been at liberty these four years, not a word 
have I received from them, till last summer my youngest 
son came to New-York to see my brother, on some busi- 
ness, and called on me, not as a mother, but' as a stran- 
ger. He told me his brother Harry was a man of for- 
tune — had married his second wife, and was father of five 
children. My readers may see by this that their ingrati- 



* See also the Rer. Samuel Peters' letter stating this fact to Dr. Graham 
and Sir James Jay. 



( 46 ) 

tude did not proceed from want, but from disposition. I 
think hard of my brother's conduct ; but it is not to be 
compared with that of my children. Only reflect on 
them — for you that are become parents must acknowldege 
that I have a cause to disown them forever. My best 
wishes are for their welfare, and have not the least doubt 
but sooner or later they will become sensible how much 
they have neglected me. Let me be what I may, still I 
am their mother. Can children, let them be ever so kind, 
repay their mother for what she has to undergo in body 
and in mind, in bringing them up till they are able to do 
for themselves ? I say they cannot. But I found a friend 
when I was in distress, which was the Lord ; he did 
more for me than all of them with all their money — he 
protected me through all my trials — he gave me health 
and strength to withstand my enemies — he raised up 
friends for me every where, in prison and out of prison. I 
must relate to my readers some incidents that took place 
while I was in prison. I had been there but three days 
when a distinction was made between me and the other 
prisoners— I wanted for nothing but liberty. There was 
a man, one of the keepers, and a widower, who was very 
fond of me, and nothing was wanting on his part to 
make my confinement agreeable. After I was at liberty, 
he was my friend, and I shall always acknowledge it ; but 
his friendship turned to love. No man could love a wo- 
man more than he did me ; but I must confess I did not 
love him with that sincere affection which would induce 
me to become his wife ; many thought me ungrateful in 
this respect, but I am sure I was not ; for how could that 
man live happy with me when I did not love him. I am 
in duty bound to say that he was a sincere friend. 



( 47 ) 

When I was discharged from prison, though a stran- 
ger, I never was refused credit. I always mentioned that 
I had been lately discharged from the state's prison, and 
my creditors have never troubled me. I enjoy good health, 
a flow of spirits, and a calm mind — no way disturbed 
concerning the things of this world, I endeavour to live de- 
cent, and to do as I wish to be done by. Instead of my 
brother doing me harm by sending me to prison, it has 
been the will of God to order it for my good. I can say 
with truth, that my he;;rt is weaned- from the cares of 
this world — every soul has my best wishes for its welfare. 
What a change ! I never can be thankful enough for 
this happy change ; for now, whether I have plenty or 
not to supply my wants, I am easy, for I know God is 
my friend, and he will, I trust, by my honest endeavours, 
supply my wants in this life. My sincere wish is that 
God may be pleased to work such a reformation in the 
hearts of my brother and my children. I do not wish them 
to go to the state's prison to obtain this reformation ; but 
I wish this may take place in their hearts, and then they 
will feel as happy as I do. Although I am in a state of 
poverty, I am happy. I think I can say without vanity, 
that I possess a generous heart, and am honorable in all 
my dealings. I am always happy to have it in my power 
to serve my fellow-creatures, without interested motives. 
If in my power to accomplish it, no person should be in 
want of the real comforts of life- — all should be happy 
in this world. 

In a future edition of this work, I shall endeavour to 
show by letters and affidavits, and leave the public to de- 



( 48 ) 

cide> how far I am guilty or innocent in this unnatural and 
unhappy circumstance which has taken place between 
my brother and myself ; but for want of time and money 
I must now conclude. 






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